Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

why we kill ourselves essence of blood bleeds into the roots of flowers, trees following spring-- the birth of the mandrake, blood root, bleeding heart, poison ivies wrapping around the oak, the pine, the aspen-- we are all in the horror of this together not going to button this sweater any tighter; sometimes we need to strip the birch bark, and let it rip into a million threads no despair, until you forgot to care the rain washes the bubbles of blood-- yet the stains of your narcissism silence my voice, push me to do umbrella steps in reverse still, no way to eradicate the abuse you are hardly aware of-- as you continue to build your empire into the plastic blue sky words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15 Feeling off center is as natural a state as feeling centered. As long as we are not judging this state as being wrong, bad, or unproductive, we are absolutely fine. Sometimes our truest nature, the deepest part of our being, our soul is gently tapping upon our shoulders. The message may be to slow down, and not try to do so many things at once. Sometimes, it is the natural response of being empathic: resonating and actually experiencing the pains and imbalances of those who are closest to us. time to step back and simply be giving space and depth to what needs to be expressed--to leave the laundry, the cleaning, the shopping, the phone calls and simply, in the moment-- simply be

"When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself." ~Shunryu Suzuki the monk walked down the mountain chest open to the first streaks of sun ears upright, absorbed in listening to the waking woods, the glistening stream, the rocks placed spontaneously strewn with leaves, smaller stones- blue rocks splashed upon during the dark of night when the stream flowed more recklessly leaving dark blotches, revealing shapes of budda worship- when the fine pine air in the earliest hours before sunrise drew a picture of profound peace now in the market place, saffron robe wrapped snugly, monk simply views all the vegetables, spices, pottery and with the fewest words possible, purchases greens, curry, a clay cooking vessel, then slowly turns to face- & to ascend the mountain words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

beneath the canopy of the catalpa plant we miss the needling rain standing on a rain scented porch in summer clothes stuck to warm musk skin sitting in a well lit room, waiting while rain does not stop sometimes, we step outside of what is convenient sometimes, we walk outdoors, & crouch in the open aired rock garden sometimes, we let the rain soak our hair, clothing, being sometimes, we laugh at how growth happens without our paying attention sometimes, we brighten when this joy is too vast, to keep it to our selves   words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

bamboo flute charms even those who walk upright parlor painted such a warm ecru a single goose egg would have reason to be envious three layers of paint- a showcase for where we hide, may never be revealed; this paint resists peeling- but how the morning sun bounces her spit shine against the eastern wall of dining room; again, giving reason for those who sit upright, and for those who choose to sit on bare maple seiza bench shiken-taza!---one with the breeze-- like the queen, to her worker bees ~kate lamberg (c) '15 green tara (internet image) '15

haiku/photo~kate lamberg '15 petals don't promise: brightening an april day, return to soft earth

waking to a dark warm silence birds begin to sing only after she sips slowly,  the first strong cup of coffee-- with thoughts of missing her father-- the rain begins to pour clean upright patterns--to somehow cleanse the salt stream, & to soothe the heart moving towards a greater assemblage still so early- even the birds sing shorter songs she knows somehow the value of brevity no thing in the world could hold more meaning than simply to steep in the growing light listening with a greater intensity leaving her insatiable mind to narrow, melt, vanish without a trace of heavy weeds no longer keeping her from breathing freely so early in the morning, this rain scented air spreads its healing fingers, strokes her temples a testament to time & a learned willingness to begin, without wavering a still lake on fire